


Writing Prompts/Random Ideas

by ErrantNight



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic
Genre: Anakin's love/hate relationship with sand, Gen, The universe doesn't like Luke much, or maybe it likes him too much
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-16 12:15:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9270755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErrantNight/pseuds/ErrantNight
Summary: Lots of random stuff, have fun and I hope you like them! If you have any ideas or prompts for me just let me know in the comments or find me on tumblr at jediknighterrant





	1. #JediPrompts -Door-

It wasn’t so much a door as an archway cluttered with fallen stones and half collapsed piles of sand and pebbles. The groundshake had opened up a long abandoned crevice in the rock, something that had obviously been carved out deliberately in the distant past. So distant that the sandstorms of centuries or even millennia had covered it all over in sand.

Luke crouched on his heels and rested his elbows on his knees, peering into the darkness with an uneasy feeling crawling up his spine.

“C’mon I dare you,” Windy said, nudging him in the back with a dusty boot, “you said you wasn’t scared back at the Station.” 

The boy was nearly fourteen, five years older than Luke was. There weren’t many kids in the area, not enough for them to section off into what would be called appropriate age groups. Luke was the youngest of all of them and tended to get picked on more often than not, causing him to boast of his ability to do anything they could do and keep up with anyone.

Luke sighed, “I did say that, yeah.”

“Aww the little worm’s too scared, just a little baby wormie,” Fixer drawled, spitting out the chewed end of his tabac stick.

“Let’s see you do it!” Luke said, jumping up and glaring at the young man, “If you weren’t scared you’d have done it already.”

“I’m not the one as promised he could do it, you gotta go in there and stay till you count to five hunnerd!”

He shivered, although it was sizzling hot even in the deep shade of the canyon. But he’d said he could do it and if he didn’t it would be weeks before he’d hear the end of it.

He strode into the darkness before they could rag on him even more, snapping the little glow stick and shaking it. The chemicals mixed and began to glow a dull orange-red and brightened as he went further in. Under his breath he began to count, the numbers coming quick and stumbling as he tried to get to five hundred as quickly as possible.

The dim light glinted on something sleek and metallic, causing him to stumble back a moment. Three prongs rose up out of the base of the device, and there were arcane marks up and down the inside and out of each of them. Pressing closer he realized it was perfectly clean, pristine even as nothing was in the desert. 

It was cold, as though the metal were frozen and emanating a chill. It was disturbing, at first, but it seemed to twine around him seductively and drew him in. He reached up and ran a hand along it, biting his lip and frowning as something whispered in his mind. 

“Luke!” a voice shouted from the entrance, a bright light bobbing toward him down a long corridor. Was he that far from the entrance?

Uncle Owen’s voice was gruff but with an edge to it that he’d only heard when there’d been an attack on a nearby farm by Tuskens. Fear.

How long had he been shouting? 

Owen grabbed him by the arm and gave him a good shake, suns tanned face pale in the light, “Luke?”

The boy looked up at him, dazed in the bright light. He realized the orange glow had faded, the glowlight having gone out at some point… it should have lasted the rest of the day.

“Let’s get you home,” Owen said, scooping him up and carrying him away.

He knew where the door was. He could come back when he needed to.


	2. Chapter 2

_don’t like sand._

Anakin was three years old and his feet hurt. The soles were already tough because proper shoes or sandals weren’t for someone growing so fast. Waste of material, even just to wrap them unless there was a mess of broken metal or glass on the kitchen floor he was supposed to be picking up. So he was barefoot in the heat of midmorning, whimpers locked in his throat as the sand burned his feet. He was old enough to know that crying made anything worse and Mom had said he had to be quiet and very good or their new owner might decide he was more trouble than he was worth. He was scared of Watto, although Mom said he might be better for them. He didn’t like the way she’d said that, but maybe it just sounded funny because her lower lip was swollen and her teeth hurt. 

_It’s course and rough and irritating._

Anakin was six years old and furious, tears of rage streaming down his face even though he knew that he couldn’t afford to waste the water. Watto was yelling, but not at him or Mom this time. There was a burning smell in the air, the Toydarian’s blaster shot had taken the interloper in the shoulder and burned a hole clean through the human. The man was yelling back as he pulled out a wad of wupiupi and threw it on the floor before running out the door.

Mom was bleeding, and he was trying to help her but there was sand in the cuts and trying to get them clean without water was making it even more painful. Mom wasn’t crying though, Mom was strong. She was so much stronger than anyone else in all the worlds. 

“Thank you,” she said, looking over his shoulder at Watto who grumbled that no one touched his slave without his permission or paying him first. They both knew that was bluster, Watto wasn’t as hard as he wanted everyone to believe.

_It gets everywhere._

Anakin was nine years old and didn’t think he’d ever be free of sand. He sat in the middle of the biggest bed he’d ever seen, soft white sheets and a blue blanket that was warm and soft. There were clothes folded there too in a little bin waiting to be put away. But there was sand in his bed too. It shed from his satchel and from the little things he’d brought with him to remind him of home. 

He set the little bowl he’d pilfered from Obi-Wan’s kitchen and carefully began to scoop up the grains of sand with his hands and spilled them into the dish. It took a long time, shaking everything out and collected every rough speck. He didn’t really know why he was doing this, he hated sand, but he couldn’t leave it behind either. He couldn’t bear to sweep it onto the floor and let it be cleaned up and taken away forever.

As much as he hated the sand, it was a little piece of home. Even if he hated Tatooine, his mom was still there. Someday he was going to take this sand back home and throw it into the wind. He’d keep his promise to the desert, to free his mother and all the slaves.

He’d promised.

**Author's Note:**

> It's the Star Map from KOTOR if you're wondering.


End file.
